


rivers of fire

by closingdoors



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Civil War Fix-It, F/M, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closingdoors/pseuds/closingdoors
Summary: He doesn't use the glasses just to see his parents.





	rivers of fire

**Author's Note:**

> Where to and what for?  
> Circle where you've been, been  
> Rivers of fire  
> That my poor heart is swimming in
> 
> I don't wanna hurt nobody  
> Could I do right by you?  
> I don't wanna waste your time, but I  
> Will if you want me to
> 
> \- Hurt Nobody, Andrew Belle

Six hundred and eleven million dollars and he can see her again.

It's worth it to him.

 

 

 

Pepper has her assistant call him to confirm the MIT speech. They've been separated for two and a half months. She insists that they use those months to establish boundaries - they've been so wrapped up in each other for over a decade that the lines are too blurred, they're too codependent, and  _that's_ why it hurts so much. 

He begins work on the glasses - B.A.R.F, which is a really terrible acronym, but he thinks it might've made her laugh once - following the phone call. There's no need for it. All he needs to do is make a flashy, inspirational speech and announce that the students' projects are going to be funded. Pepper will follow up with the details, and he'll slink away off stage to watch her, effervescent and brilliant.

 

 

 

 

He hasn't cried since his parents died. Not that he hasn't  _wanted_ to. It's like access to the tears is closed off from him. Just another part of the Tony Stark robot that's broken. 

When the glasses finally come to light, when the white around him becomes his used-to-be-home, when his mother begins to sing... 

The tears gather in his eyes, but they do not fall.

 

 

 

She'd kill him if she knew, but he doesn't use the glasses just to see his parents. 

When the white of the room fades away, she's the one sitting at the piano. She doesn't play, and she closes the cover over the keys to rest her elbow there, her chin cupped in her palm. She's watching him.

"This isn't what I meant," she says, and she sounds tired, so maybe the glasses are more accurate to real life than he gives them credit for.

He doesn't say anything.

The glasses are his homage to his dead parents, his way of reframing things, to soothe the sting of guilt and grief that'd wrecked havoc for his twenties and the majority of his thirties, too. It feels too much like talking to a dead person, and Pepper is very much alive - she's just far from him, and he's not sure that he's ever given her enough reasons to come back.

 

 

 

He leaves a voicemail on Pepper's phone, not her assistant's, and waits for her to call back. He spends the rest of the day walking around his apartment, babbling to FRIDAY, and concedes defeat when evening rolls around and there's still no answer.

Tony ends up in the white room, though he's told himself it's  _bad_ and  _creepy_ and  _therapists would have a field day._ The glasses flicker to life and Pepper's right there, leaning into the past version of him, kissing him softly.

His phone vibrates with a message from Pepper's assistant, insisting that the technology sounds groundbreaking but isn't necessary for the speech.

He looks up, and the past version of himself is peeling the shirt off of Pepper's shoulders. He shuts the glasses off and leaves another message on Pepper's voicemail.

 

 

 

"Miss Potts has arrived, boss," FRIDAY announces, and he drops the nano technology he'd been working on, watches as it scatters across the ground.

"Already?"

"She's twenty minutes late, boss. She left a message earlier which I relayed to you."

"I remember," he says, but he doesn't, because he hasn't actually paid attention to a thing anyone but Pepper has said in his life.

The workshop in his New York place is actually the renovated attic. He has to head down two flights of stairs to meet her. His heart jackrabbits in his chest and he takes a minute to lean against the wall, massaging the muscle through scarred skin. He should've cleaned up. Or hired someone to clean up, anyway. How the hell is he supposed to convince her that he's a new man who can  _absolutely one hundred percent_ live without her if there's stuff scattered everywhere? The bots had unpacked for him, but since then he's made no effort - it's just been him here. He hasn't actually welcomed a single guest to this place since he bought it two and a half months ago.

When he gets downstairs, FRIDAY has already allowed Pepper access, and she's stepping through the doors. She approaches him and deftly avoids stepping on abandoned plans, old suit jackets, and oddly a tangerine peel, without blinking an eye. And maybe that's the problem, that she's so used to his messes.

"Potts," he greets, though he wants to say  _Pep,_ and, "you're late," he adds, though he wants to say  _you look beautiful._

She does. If anything, the break seems to have done her wonders. Her hair is longer now, her skirt suit looks pressed and impeccable, and the freckles she normally keeps hidden under layers of concealer are on display. 

"Just show me these glasses you're insisting on showcasing," she supplies instead of a reason.

He leads her to the white room, where he's been spending an awful lot of his time, and grabs the glasses. He almost tells her the acronym, but he thinks about what it'd do to him if she  _didn't_ laugh, so he doesn't.

Pepper settles herself on the chair he grabs for her and accepts the glasses without allowing their fingers to brush. He flicks them on, having to lean into her space to do so, overwhelmed for a moment by her  _nearness -_

"Woah," Pepper murmurs when the glasses come to life, and Tony steps away.

There's no projector in here like he'll have at MIT, so he has to count on her reactions. The scene isn't long, but waiting by her feels like  _forever,_ and he knows when his mother kisses the AR version of him on the cheek because Pepper lets out a small, stuttered breath, which he'd miss if he didn't know her inside out. She slips the glasses off, stands to hand them to him, and there aren't tears in her eyes but  _pity._ It twists over and over inside of him.

"These really are groundbreaking. How do you expect me to advertise this to the board, though?"

"They're not for sale," he says quickly. "They're just - "

He doesn't finish, and she understands. He folds the temples of the glasses despite being tempted to hand them back to her, to show her a moment that had been  _theirs,_ a moment where they were good and in love and didn't need fixing.

"I'll think about it, Tony."

And just like that, his stomach flips, and really,  _it's unfair_ - 

Pepper leaves without a kiss or a hand to hold or an  _I love you,_ another reminder that everything they used to be is buried under the sand, and he doesn't get to sleep until four in the afternoon two days later.

 

 

 

Through the glasses, he watches Pepper tilt her head back and laugh, her hair glowing brighter under candlelight. It's a memory from their second anniversary, when she'd switched her phone off and he'd had JARVIS redirect all calls from SHIELD. There's a glass of champagne in her hand, fizzing and bubbling, and he watches himself take a sip while watching her laugh.

 

 

 

Through the glasses, he watches Pepper make them breakfast, her hair tied up in a bun and one of his old t-shirts on. She burns her thumb and the AR version of him kisses the pad of skin, sneaking a piece of bacon while he's there.

 

 

 

Through the glasses, Pepper arrives home from work, slipping her shoes off and massaging the soles of her feet. She heads straight upstairs to bed, curling herself under the sheets, and he watches as he enters the space. He remembers it crystal clear, but his heart still misses half a dozen beats when Pepper says  _I think I should move in_ and he says  _finally._

 

 

 

On stage, he mentions the things he did to avoid processing his grief, as if the glasses aren't just another distraction.

 

 

 

Pepper pushes her bangs away from her eyes.

"We've needed a break for a long time, Tony."

"No, we don't. We absolutely don't need a break."

" _I_ need a break, then."

That stops him. Pepper reaches over and her fingers are gentle against his jaw. 

"But it's just a break, okay?" She murmurs. 

They kiss, and he pulls her closer, holding on to her tightly so that she won't leave. Her breath washes over his temples when his lips devote themselves to worshipping the soft skin of her neck.

"Don't go anywhere," he whispers into her skin, "don't go where I'm not. Please." 

"Tony..."

Her fingers curl through his hair, shorter now. 

"We'll fix things together," he tells her, and he's not kissing her anymore, just leaning his forehead against her shoulder. 

"Okay," she agrees, and stays.

 

 

 

(What really happens is this -

Pepper pushes her bangs away from her eyes.

"We've needed a break for a long time, Tony."

"No, we don't. We absolutely don't need a break."

" _I_ need a break, then."

He stops. FRIDAY announces that Pepper's driver has arrived and is waiting outside.

"You do?"

Pepper nods, and it's then that he notices how exhausted she looks. There're bags under her eyes that she hides with make up, lines beginning to branch out from their corners, and her shoulders are slumped.

"But it's just a break, okay?" She murmurs.

 _No, no - it's not okay._ But he looks at her, and realises what he's doing to her even though he loves her, and he sets his jaw and nods.

Pepper scoops her bag from the floor, her other hand curling around the suitcase handle. She doesn't smile at him, but there's a sort of relief that's settled on her expression now which he thinks takes its place, and all he really wants to do is scoop out his insides so that he stops feeling the maelstrom inside of him.

"Just a break," he echoes, and she's gone.)

 

 

 

After Siberia, after doctors and wrapped ribs and his arm in a sling  _again,_ he's alone. 

He moves into the Avengers compound.

 

 

 

FRIDAY locks the doors without him asking. The room is exactly like the one he has at the home he never visits anymore - white, a few bits of furniture, white too, to accommodate the glasses. The employees working don't ask about it, and Vision can tell without asking.

Pepper is beside him, furiously jabbing at her laptop keyboard, writing an email - he's not sure what about, the words are blurred to him. 

He falls asleep peacefully for the first time since Siberia to the sound of her breathing and typing. The glasses slip off in his sleep, and he wakes up cold and alone on the floor.

 

 

 

 

"He's my friend," Steve says, and then: "So are you. So please, stop."

Tony pauses. He rewinds the footage.

"He's my friend," Steve repeats, and this time: "You never were."

Tony grits his teeth. Rewinds again.

"He's my friend," Steve, again, and: "So was Howard."

Again.

"He's my friend."

Again.

"He's my friend."

_Again._

"You're my friend."

 

 

 

("He's my friend," Steve says. 

"So was I," Tony murmurs -

and ends up with his father's shield embedded in his chest.)

 

 

 

Pepper's in the building and FRIDAY doesn't warn him.

He goes to see Rhodey, who's beginning to walk without clutching onto anything. Tony's carrying the fifth version of the leg frames he'd built Rhodes despite the fact that no matter how many he makes, the guilt never assuages. 

Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he finds Pepper standing a couple feet away from Rhodey, a smile on her face as the man demonstrates the range of movement he has. She's casual, just jeans and a vest top, and it's too much like how it used to be.

She notices him standing in the doorway and her smile drops a fraction. Tony swoops in anyway, presenting Rhodey with the new frames, helping him switch. 

"These are really wonderful, Tony," she says, studying the way Rhodey can now switch the speed of his pace at will, and just like that, a tiny bit of guilt breaks away.

 

 

 

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you. I didn't know what to say," Pepper murmurs.

"You think I was wrong?"

"No," she shakes her head. Her hair shifts with the movement. He reaches out to hold some of it between his fingers. "But next time, call me, okay?" 

"I didn't think I was allowed to anymore."

Pepper kisses his forehead. Her hands cup his cheeks like handling china. 

 

 

 

("I'm sorry I haven't been to see you," Pepper murmurs.

"You think I was wrong?"

"No," she shakes her head. "But next time, don't involve a kid, okay?")

 

 

 

Steve takes the pen. He signs the accords.

 

 

 

(One drunken night, Tony snaps the pen meant for Steve in half.)

 

 

 

"What the hell do you do in there, anyway?" Rhodey asks, the second time he has the strength to walk the halls of the compound.

Tony glances over to the door of the white room. 

"It's my workshop."

"Bullshit," Rhodey snorts. "I've seen your workshop here."

"Would you believe therapy then?"

Rhodey stops and the mechanical whirring stops with him. Tony thinks of the arc reactor, how it always hummed, how it always glowed, left him with the taste of iron in his mouth. 

"You know, you  _should_ see someone." 

"And end up addicted to medication again? Pass."

Rhodey frowns. "Therapists don't just throw medication at you. Not when you have the kind of money you have. They'll listen to anything you say."

"I know," he says, and it's exactly the reason he doesn't go.

 

 

 

The room is dark blue, almost silver, a strange combination of moonlight and the arc reactor and the dark. Pepper is on her side, facing him, the sheets only drawn up to her hips, leaving the rest of her exposed. 

She isn't shy, which almost surprises him. She exudes pride for her body - which she should - and she softens when he reaches over to rest his hand on the dip of her waist. It's their first afterglow, and he's committing every moment to memory.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he states. His voice doesn't break. "Or I am in love with you."

Pepper rolls her eyes, but it's affectionate, along with the weary noise she makes.

"I'm never getting rid of you, am I?" 

It's not a question, and he doesn't answer, and she leans across to kiss him.

 

 

 

(It's the memory he comes back to most.)

 

 

 

Pepper, laughing, her hair in candlelight - 

She disappears suddenly, the glasses are yanked away from him, and he panics and begins to go in for a hit when -

"Stop, it's me!"

Her hand curls around his fist, which is three inches away from her cheek, and he forgets how to breathe. Oh, God  -

"Tony."

He almost  _hit_ her. His mind was already going to summon the suit -

"Look at me."

He was going to become just like Steve Rogers  -

"Snap out of it!"

He breathes, gasping for it, and doubles over, his elbows resting on his legs. Pepper's hand curls around the back of his neck, which is sweaty and damp and gross and how can she even stand to  _look_ at him, much less touch him? They're just going in circles, and his mind replays waking from nightmares to the suit holding her still, ready to attack on his order. Pepper, leaving the room. Pepper, five months ago, leaving him entirely.

"I'm sorry," he gets out, strangled and hoarse. His throat feels just like it had after the waterboarding in Afghanistan. "I'm sorry. For all of it. Pepper..."

"No more."

"No more," he agrees.

Her hand curls under his chin. She's holding the glasses in front of him.

"No more," she repeats, this time with more force, and he nods anyway.

She snaps the glasses in two.

"How did you even know?"

"I asked FRIDAY to give me updates on you after you showed me the glasses."

"I told her to keep it secret."

"You gave Miss Potts authority to override all orders given by you when you coded me, boss," FRIDAY chimes in. 

"Traitor."

Pepper drops the glasses to the ground.

"This isn't healthy, Tony. This isn't helping you cope. You're drowning in it."

"I know," he concedes. 

Pepper raises an eyebrow. "That's it? No comeback, no argument?" 

"I'm sorry," he says again, because he can't summon the energy to pretend anymore, and maybe that's why she left him, because she was seeing through the cracks of his humour - 

Pepper tugs him up to his feet, so that she can wrap her arms around him, and he's so lost for a moment that he forgets where to put his hands. She smells like vanilla, and fresh laundry, and she's  _warm_ instead of untouchable. His hands settle on the small of her back. 

"How's your arm?" She murmurs into his neck.

"Better now," he replies, and it's true.

 

 

 

Six hundred and eleven million dollars.

He tosses the broken glasses to Dum-E for disposal.

 

 

 

Pepper has a light blue nightlight in her bedroom. She flushes when he shoots her a look for it.

"It reminded me of the arc reactor," she tells him as she undresses. She turns away from him. "It made me feel closer to you."

He sits on the edge of the bed, studying the rest of the décor. He needs to buy them someplace that's theirs, he decides. The malibu house had been his first, the Stark tower had always been meant to be shared, and his New York place isn't even worth mentioning.

"I thought the point of the break was to get some distance. Figure out who we were without each other."

Pepper's shoulders drop. She lets the nightshirt she was holding slip from her hands when she turns towards him. The light casts its glow over her bare skin.

"I think it was too late for that," she murmurs, and joins him on the bed.

 


End file.
